


Stray Wandering Along Someone Else's Path

by Reshikratia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: After Siberia, All characters other than Friday are just mentionned, Angst, Character Study, Civil War Team Iron Man, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve Rogers critical, This is pretty much Just Tony thinking about things, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony-centric, Vision Needs A Hug, and figuring things out, and trying to find what next
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 08:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10272200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reshikratia/pseuds/Reshikratia
Summary: It is said that not all those who wander are lost. But all wanderers barely know where they come from, have no way of going back, and no destination in sight. Now that the dust has settled, it is maybe time to remedy this situation. It is fortunate, then, than finding solutions is what he does best.An introspective Tony fic post Civil War





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever, so a bit nervous there... This is basically my take on Tony's state of mind post Siberia, we sees throughout Civil War that the poor boy has a lot of issues he needs to deal with, but he keeps being kicked down and his plate of problems keeps geting bigger. Until he explodes in Siberia. I wanted to explore what would that outburst mean and impact him. 
> 
> I would love to see your reactions to know how I'm doing for this first dip into fanfic of mine :)

It always came down to this, didn’t it?

 

Tony Stark was living on a broken heart. Or maybe he didn’t have one, he never really remembered which one it was anyway. Though if you took the broken heart thing as a machine not functioning adequately he guessed the difference was not that important.

 

He shifted a bit in order to try and alleviate the pressure in his ribs. It wasn’t really a success as a sharp pain in his chest made him wince. He ignored it, and it soon was just a dull memory in a corner of his mind. Tilting slightly his head upwards he sucked in a breath that sounded -and felt- more like a sigh.

 

Back against the concrete pillar of the trashed Hydra base, he was sitting in his destroyed armor, waiting. Now that the excitement, the rush and pressure of the last few days had deflated he had decided that he could afford to sit around for a bit and try to catch his breath. Metaphorically that is. Well literally too because _fuck it_ he was exhausted. It had been a long couple of days.

 

So here he was, lounging on the cold ground of a base that was a push away from falling to ruins, being still for once and contemplating. _How did it come to this?_

 

He wondered when it had started. When the golden boy and the bright future he was perceived as shifted into this chimera that attracted disaster and destruction. When the boy full of hopes died and was replaced by the misunderstood and mistrusted genius. It probably was around Howard’s death. After that, he took on the family business and suddenly he wasn’t the wonder boy anymore but just a legacy. One that would never compare to the original.

 

His father was the real deal, a self-made man and war hero that until his last days had been involved in the security of his country. For his part Tony was just the son that was handed everything and had the impossible task of being his father in a time where what people saw as Howard would have been a has-been. He was the symbol of an America that had taken the wrong path and strayed from its righteous legacy. He was a war-monger trading death on the back of the disregarded while his father was the protector that had allowed for the waging of a just war. Once again he couldn’t measure up. He was just the pale replacement of a symbol that had brought the fond nostalgia of past greatness to the grave with him.

 

It was nothing new, he mused, as he saw in the corner of his eye the spangled shield that had been left behind. It was still shiny and seemed too bright compared to the dreary room it lied in. Only specks of blood tainted its luster, mostly his, he registered somewhere in the back of his head. Not that he cared that much, his blood was pretty much everywhere. Plus, it comforted in some way that at least this last piece of the Captain hadn’t stayed pure, untouched.

 

The freezing wind picked up a bit and chill coursed through his veins. The sudden physical sensation turned his thoughts toward his somewhat precarious situation. He was in a disabled suit in an abandoned Hydra base that was ground zero for the fight that had taken place between forces of nature fueled by pure panic and rage. Not exactly the best place to be stranded in.

 

But once again he couldn’t bring himself to really react more than a mental shrug. He wasn’t worried. It was only a matter of time before somebody noticed he wasn’t where he was supposed to be and then it’d be easy enough for help to come forth. Maybe Vision would come flying in, maybe the Panther that had trailed him would realize Ste- _Rogers_ had left him behind and would come back for his one-time ally. Perhaps at the end of it, he thought with a rueful smile, Tony would be sent to the Raft to straighten him out a little. He could almost imagine his ex-teammates face at his arrival. Maybe even some of the piques he was certain to receive.

 

Barton would go straight for the jugular and would prattle on about poetic justice, karma and all that shit. The small guy was probably going to needle him about being a Stark that wasn’t as above the law as he thought, he seemed like the contrarian type against the perceived elite. Probably picked it up from Pym, the grumpy bastard. Wilson, that was more difficult to guess, disappointed silence? Grilling him about what happened? Or just a smartass comment without any real bite to it just to let him know that he was still on the other side.

 

The hard floor and cracked plates he wore were starting to be very uncomfortable. He shifted every now and then but nothing seemed to work. With a reluctant pout he resolved to move his ass. That was really frustrating, for once he was willing to engage in some sort of quiet introspection his body wouldn’t let him forget about his earthly tethers. With a hiss Tony pushed himself on his feet, his back still flat against the pillar, and he started working on extirpating himself from his metal suit. The thing was an inch shy of being completely totalled but after a bit of fiddling he managed to activate the emergency release. He first threw down his chest plate with a grim satisfaction, the proof of his broken heart finally not clinging to him.

 

He worked on removing the rest of his armor, part after part, until he was free from the last of his metal cocoon that had felt more like an iron coffin at the time. The cold bit into him with renewed vigor but he enjoyed the sensation. He opened his mouth to breathe deeply, not caring how it jostled his bruised and battered body. The air tasted as cold as it felt, leaving pinpricks along his throat and lungs but he ignored it. He was too focused on this strange sensation.

Even after he had shed every ounce of his armor he still didn’t feel like the weight on his shoulders had lessened. His chest still felt constricted and his legs too rigid for flesh and blood limbs.

 

He frowned a bit at that. How long had he been here? Hours? Minutes? More? Less? He distantly recalled St- _Rogers_ carrying his buddy out and the phantom pain of his armor giving in. It could’ve as well been lifetimes that had passed during his musing. At the same time, he didn’t remember any shift in luminosity, force of the wind or even tiredness seeping his way through his body. It couldn’t have been that long… could it?

 

Shaking his head to clear his mind -with very little effects- Tony looked around, staring at every trace of the fight left behind. Approaching a scorch mark left by his repulsor, he put his hand on it, tracing with his fingers its trajectory. Moving on, he continued to follow this trail that recounted a fight he barely remembered. Maybe it’d occupy him for a while. In truth, he really wanted to focus the blurriness of the events that led him to this, after all he still didn’t know: How did it come to this?

 

* * *

 

In the end help came in an unexpected form.

 

While Tony was in the middle of exploring the collapsed stairway, two iron suits blasted their way into the base and landed in front of the broken remains of his armor. FRIDAY, he thought. She had decided to send suits to him when he lost contact with her. It was not expected since he knew he didn’t put these safety protocols in her code yet -something he’d have to remedy as soon as possible- but it seemed that the AI had found this course of action preferable and took the initiative to go ahead with it.

 

At the thought, pride swelled into his chest, bringing in a warm sensation that almost felt foreign. She grew up so fast. She was still young and not as used to him as JARVIS had evolved to be after nearly two decades by his sides. Especially in combat situations, since he’d retired pretty much the day after her birth. But she still had responded to this difficult situation brilliantly, in the exact same way JARVIS would have.

 

A pang tugged at his heart at the thought of his bot, _his baby,_ that was gone, the loss still raw and big enough to swallow him. But he shrugged it off. It was FRIDAY’s moment, he needed to tell her how proud he was. He wouldn’t resent her for circumstances far out of her control and anyway _she was one of his_ , he loved her fiercely with all he had. Regardless of the reason she was brought to life. He loved her the moment he heard her first speak to him and he’d continue to watch her grow until he died (and _this time_ he would be the first to go, he promised for the upteenth time since he had to let JARVIS go).

 

“Well, didn’t expect such a welcome committee” he said while marching back towards the suits “Even when you think you know a girl… She still manages to surprise you”

 

“I couldn’t trust you to get of this without finding trouble in some ways, boss” FRIDAY answered back from the speakers of one of the armor “So I found it in my prerogatives to insure your safe and _discreet_ return home.”

 

One of the suits bent down to scavenge the important bits of the destroyed armor that couldn’t be left behind, while the other walked toward Tony ready to close around him and give him back the controls.

 

“What’s with the sass young lady?” Tony stepped into the open suit a little smile on his face “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re questioning my abilities to survive”

 

“I would _never_ , boss”

 

Tony felt his smile grow a little and embraced the feeling of levity that enveloped him. He really wasn’t any good left to his own devices with nothing to do. _His head went places._ FRIDAY’s presence was a godsend he relished in. And while the weight on his shoulders didn’t disappear completely, he still felt a bit more light than a few minutes before. As usual, it was inside a working suit that he was most at home.

 

The way back was uneventful. Both armors flying side by side, one piloted by Tony, the other holding the scraps that had been kept and under FRIDAY’s control. Over the Arctic, his helicopter met them allowing him to step in and change back into civilian clothes.

 

“The aircraft made its way back to New York before coming back to us. Nobody will know that you were in Siberia, boss”

 

“Great” Tony said, his eyes taking a steely complexion “Now let’s head back to Germany and see Rhodey, Honey Bear must have missed me.” There was however no humor in his voice, only a grim resolve.  


* * *

 

Now that Ross had been taken care of, Tony could focus back on… _the thing_ that he had in his hands.

 

_What the hell?_

 

If he didn’t know Rogers couldn’t get smashed he would be sure that it was some kind of drunk texting with the 40s technology (yes, _including_ the phone) he had received. This letter was pure, unadulterated nonsense-y _bullshit_. Like, what was he supposed to take from this?

 

**_I’m glad you’re at the compound_** … Did he have to worry about some stalker keeping tabs on him? (Yeah it was probably by the media that Rogers had learnt this, but is still unnerved him)

_**I never really fit in anywhere, not even in the army**_ (Why are you telling me this Rogers? Isn’t it a bit late to kiss and tell? Like seriously?) And how was he supposed to take this seriously, when this was such bullshit. Rogers had fitted like a glove in the army, he had hundred of stories he heard hundred of times to prove it. He fit in perfectly too the moment he woke up in a new century and everybody bowed down to him like some royalty.

 

He remembered when he first heard that Captain America was back, alive and still young. That he would be part of a team under _his_ command. A part of him felt that fate was really mocking him: he had finally managed to get rid of his father’s shadow and now the great Captain was there to cast clouds over his head once again. But a part of him had been kind of excited. He grew up with the guy, he heard so many stories he felt like he knew him personally, he thought that perhaps he would be able to form some kind of kinship with him.

 

It was one of the only person his father had admired, and he had the benefit of him coming from another time and so being a blank slate when it came to what he’d heard about Tony. They could bond, form a camaraderie based on their shared link with a guy that had fathered both of them, in a way. It was a bit like meeting for the first time the long lost brother you had heard all about. And this time he was ready for this encounter, anchored by the new-found knowledge that maybe his father had loved him after all, had been proud of him. That he wasn’t second best to a ghost that had only been there for a couple years of his father’s life ( ** _“You’re my greatest creation Tony”_** ). Maybe Rogers’ knowledge would help him understand better _why_. Why his father changed so much? Why did he entrust Obie with him? Why did he spend his life dealing arms?

 

In the end his hopes were quickly dashed, as always, by the immediate hostility he picked up from the Captain. Then he was told why, Rogers knew _all_ about him because he had seen _some footage_. (So much for Captain America being a perfect human being, huh).

 

They had formed a tentative friendship, and while Tony had tried, he never really felt the Captain reciprocate. Their relation would always be undermined by the mistrust caused by this first snap judgement. And he thought he was okay with that, it was not his first rodeo after all. But it still hurt to see the ease with which others manages to approach Rogers while he was always held at arm’s length. In the end, after Siberia, he wasn’t even sure the good Captain had ever considered him his friend.

 

But now he had received a package, a letter from Rogers… trying...to do... what exactly? He was confused as hell and exhausted. _Why now?_ Siberia had left a pretty clear message. At least that what he thought. Maybe he understood Rogers’ language even less than he thought, but he wasn’t sure he care to learn now.

 

His eyes found themselves roaming the letter again. Once, twice, and more. The blinking red dot in the corner of his eyes indicating Ross’s call on hold didn’t even manage to distract him.

 

_**“Tony”**_ ( _Why Tony? It seemed so personal_ )

 

**_“We all need family”_** ( _Then why did you keep the truth about mine from me?_ )

 

**The Avengers are yours.**

 

The sentence rang into his head and scratched at the inside of his skull. It only elicited unwanted words to spring on the forefront of his mind…

 

( _**…Can’t you let go of your ego for once…You tore the Avengers apart when you signed the accords…Watch your back around this guy he might just break it…Pym told me never to trust a Stark…You’re sorry? That’s a first…Keep telling yourself that…Ultron can’t see the difference between saving the world and destroying it, where do you think he gets that from?…** ) _

 

He focused back on the words in front of him, forcing the word to a quiet buzzing at the back of his head.

 

What the hell was he on when talked about locks? Like seriously what was the meaning behind it? Did he really need to call an English professor to decipher what in all hells Rogers was trying to express with this mess of a letter?

 

He’s sorry but at the same time he has a reason for what he did. He didn’t fit anywhere but still was never disappointed by individuals. There’s some stuff about calling if needed ( _so that’s what this dinosaur was for_ ) and an attempt at honesty by revealing some personal information but vague cryptic pseudo-proverbs about locks and family. What was the point? Forgiveness? Reconciliation? Apology? Some secret coded message about something?

 

Some part of him found it amusing that Rogers had taken great care in sending the package in a way that would be very difficult to track but then handed him a piece of technology anyway. Cute. Or maybe that was more of his mixed messages.

 

Another part of him was screaming from far away, he could barely hear it through his stream of consciousness yet it seemed to seep into every bit of his skin and leave a cold imprint along the way.

 

Steve trusted individuals then what was he?... “ _You’re my greatest creation Tony_ ”.... “ _That’s the way I wish it should’ve been_ ”...” _I was never able to ask my father__ ”... _He needed to protect this very fragile world but was it all about his ego after all…”You only fight for yourself”...He tried so hard, he let Cap take the helm, he tried to listen to what people spat at him “Like the old man said, together”... “I wish I told you about your parents Tony”... “We’ll lose”... “Tony Stark, everyone, the Futurist!”....“That guy died in the ice, I’m home”... Then if he really died, did all his father’s efforts to find him were in vain after all?... If only he could__

 

His eyes snapped open. He hadn’t even realized he had closed them.

 

It felt like the final piece of the puzzle had finally been given. He understood now. This was all so clear, how could he have missed this? How could he have been wrong for so long? He needed to test it to be at 100%, but he was pretty sure he finally got it.

 

He straightened himself on his chair and it’s like a fog was lifted from his mind. The room snapped back into focus and he realized he was in Rogers’ old office. Huh. When did that happen? It seems he was so engrossed by what he knew the package was he made his way subconsciously to Rogers’ office. He didn’t know why. It happened a lot recently. It seems he was on autopilot on lots of stuff. But different from before. Before, he was always too deep into his thoughts and the multiple projects he worked of at the same time. Recently he was just ...removed, his thoughts echoing in the distance while he himself tried to live day to day without drowning in the cold shadow that hugged his skin throughout everything. His creative drive had even dried up a bit, most of it done under the same foggy veil on autopilot. There was no more _excitement_ , no more _wonder_ at the thought of _discovering_ , _crafting_ new things.

 

He made his way down the stairs towards an abandoned hallway that led to an abandoned storage room. He made a stop before that to fetch the gear he needed to test his theory. It was with long, purposeful strides that he entered the old, dusty room. This was where all the things from Howard’s old storehouse had been moved to after the construction of the compound.

 

The various boxes and object were left there to collect dust. Tony sat on one of them without bothering to switch the light on, not realizing he was still clutching the phone and letter he had received in his one hand. Somewhere on his left, in his peripheral vision lied the shield and the arm he had brought back from Siberia. It seemed that not even oblivion could scratch the pristine look of the items for they still shined brightly in room, completely free of dust. Only the blood stains remained as a proof that this battle had taken place.

 

Reaching for the little box he had brought with him, Tony pulled out the BARF glasses ( _he really needed to change the name, though he knew he probably wouldn’t_ ). He fiddled a bit with the controls then put them on his nose. He was instantly pulled back into a familiar memory.

 

The sound of his mother playing piano filled his ears once more while he observed his youthful sleeping face. His father came in, as usual, and needled his counterpart while he was getting ready to leave. His younger self stood up and went sulking in the doorframe, and, as usual, his mother went to him to try to make peace with his father.

 

The original conversation played out. Then: “ _ **You know what’s about to happen, if you don’t say anything you’ll regret it**_ ”.

 

His younger self mulled over this. That was the truth. But in the end he kept his back to his mother and his arm crossed over his chest. Only Tony was able to hear the loud “ _I’m **so** sorry mom, but that’s how it is_” that was the powerful thought bouncing in the stubborn silence of his younger self.

 

Howard came back to fetch his mother and said something to his son. At that point Tony wasn’t listening anymore, he just watched as the argument that would conclude all memories created with his parents took place. Exactly as it happened.

 

His younger self crashed back into the couch with a frustrated groan the moment the door slammed shuts.

 

That was it, the last sight he ever had of his parents.

 

The scenery in front of him changed and took on the form of a familiar bunker. His counterpart was looking at Rogers asking “ _did you know?_ ”

 

Rogers hesitated and for a moment seemed to start shaking his head before his eyes snapped up and he whispered “ ** _Yes_** ”.

 

The fight ensued the exact same way it unfolded in reality. And a part of Tony was glad to see this, to finally be able to see what had happened in detail. Somewhere in the back of his mind, calculations were made and notes taken in order to correct the weaknesses this battle had exposed.

 

His counterpart was left behind in a broken suit once again, with only a metal arm and a bloody shield as keepsakes. He sat up against a pillar, the move pulling a grimace out of him, and when he settled he looked straight at Tony.

 

“So...Satisfied now? I’d say that’s pretty conclusive, but maybe that’s just me.”

 

Tony closed his eyes and turned off the device. Taking it off his head, he let his eyes adapt to the dark, a welcome sensation as his prolonged use of BARF had created a monster of a migraine. He didn’t know how long he had spent revisiting his memories but it was probably much more than the recommended maximal use of the device.

 

A drum was beating against every inch of his skull and he felt something push against his eyes so hard that he was half afraid they would pop out. Every move of his head, even the most minute one, let out a shrill whistle inside his brain.

 

But it was still… far-off in a way. He was still much more aware of the weight on his shoulders and the weakness in his legs. Still he made the effort to focus back on what he just saw, analyzing every moment of it. When he finished a small smirk etched itself on his face, becoming wider by the second while his jaw clenched shut.

 

He had been right.

 

He had been going at it in all the wrong ways.

 

Luckily in the last few day his head had been bashed in often enough that he could claim he had undergone a _very vigorous_ cognitive recalibration. The letter, with all its mindfucking nonsense, had just finished to right his mind.

 

In the end he guessed he was thankful to Rogers after all. He had helped him when he needed it, just as promised, though now the phone seemed a bit superfluous since, well he didn’t need Rogers’ help anymore. He wouldn’t ever again. And fuck his shitty letter and mixed messages, _he was done_.

 

He was done playing by the Captain’s -or anyone for that matter- rules.

 

He was done chasing after the ghost of his father trying to find closure about his feelings.

 

He was done spending time wondering about what ifs and what would have happened, if he had more time with his father, if Rogers hadn’t hanged on his first impression, if he had said this, hadn’t done that. Fuck that bullshit.

 

He was the Futurist, everyone, damn right. He didn’t have time to waste clinging to a past he couldn’t change when there was a whole future to shape. That was Rogers’ schtick. He was done indulging his playmates while everyday the threat of an overwhelming alien invasion grew bigger and bigger. He’d work on that instead of bending himself backwards to try and make his team see reason.

 

Fuck Ross too, he’d have him booted out of office so fast, he’d be literally thrown out and people were going to believe maybe pigs _can_ fly after all.  

 

He will protect the Earth under its inhabitants’ needs _and wishes_ because that’s who he is. He’ll take care of Vision and the Spiderling, making sure the former didn’t drown himself in the sorrow of a first heartbreak and self-blame while he would protect and help the latter out so he could be as safe as possible spiderlinging. He’ll make Rhodey new kickass legs too, because that’s what he was, he fixed things and made them cooler. And if Rhodey ever wanted to go back into the suit, he’ll upgrade it so much there would be no way such an incident could happen again. Because things could always be made better, and he would tinker until that point, and the one after that, and the one after that one, and_ well that was pretty clear by that point.

 

He stood up, preparing to get out and find Rhodey, after all he needed to make up for all the roasting for the typo on the package (was it intentional Rogers? Because if it was, seriously?) and get back at him. He’d would use that time to fine tune Rhodey’s prosthetics and make notes on how to improve them. He also needed to find Vision and get him out of his funk, because sitting on a couch for days on end without budging couldn’t be healthy, _even_ for an android.

 

But first there was something else he needed to do.

 

He spread his feet a bit apart until they were holding his stance comfortably. He closed his eyes and focused on the weight on his shoulders that wouldn’t leave him, the floating sensation in his legs, the metal coil around his chest, and last of all the sound of his mother’s piano playing on loop since that day in MIT. He sucked in a breath until he felt filled completely by the stale air of the room.

 

Then, he let go.

 

He let go of the wishful thinkings about a possible relation with an absentee father that was really just the shadow of bitter memories. He let go of the past and his need to cling to what he had, Pepper, the Avengers: they were all gone, no need to hold onto them. He let go of the lie Steve had entertained for two years, knowing that while Steve might regret it and want to change the past, he had to accept it and move forward while processing his grief. What was done, was done no use in trying to wish harsh realities away.

 

Suddenly the breath was released and with it the melody of the song and the burdens weighing him down while something in his chest unwound. He opened his hands he hadn’t even realized had been clenched into tight fists and he focused on his feet and the sensation of the ground beneath them.

 

He was grounded once again, and when he opened his eyes the room spinned as the pain in his head exploded at the front of his mind. His broken and bruised ribs groaned at the strain he put them under while he breathed and his arm throbbed in a saccato. He couldn’t help it, finding back the sharpness of the present he had missed for so long without knowing, he let out a relieved giggle. He regretted it instantly when his vision got blurry as his head spinned a bit. But still. He was back with his mind in the game.

 

He was Tony Stark again. He was _Iron Man_. And he wouldn’t let this destroy him.

 

He started to walk toward the door, deciding to go see Vision first after all. He wouldn’t prompt him to talk and just offer his quiet company while lying on a couch next to him. This seemed like the best thing to do with a killer migraine. And if Vision wanted to say something after all, he’d swallow his pain and listen and try to help him out with this whole dealing with emotions thingy.

 

He pushed the door open and left the room, his steps taking on a swagger that he hadn’t used in a long time. While he walk down the hallway, his mind buzzing with both pain and ways to make Rhodey’s legs better, his eyes took on a liveliness that hadn’t been seen for a while.

  
The door to the storage room closed, sealed once again as a forgotten gateway to a bygone era. On the floor, next to the bloody shield, lied a piece of paper, an old phone and what looked like high-tech glasses. They had been unconsciously dropped from clenched fists when Tony had relaxed. Now they rested where they belonged: left behind on the dusty floor amidst the damp pieces of Howard’s ghost and the broken remnants of an unkept promise swearing a future among a team.

**Author's Note:**

> This is it! Hope you liked (or at least enjoyed) it & don't hesitate to leave a comment! :)
> 
> Now all of it is from Tony's POV, obviously. So all facts are colored by his perspective (at least how I see his character being). Though, while I don't agree with 100% of what he thinks or says, I would say I'm at a good 90%. This is for my personal view of the movie. 
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr ](areshihai.tumblr.com)


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